Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
I tense, and everything aches. I can’t sleep on that ledge another night.
“She’s not to be fucked with.” It’s as simple as that.
“All due respect, man, but—” He casts me a wary look. “It’s kind of the opposite.”
“Explain.”
“I mean, you see it yourself. Everyone knows she’s something to you. You might not be staking a claim, but that doesn’t make her any less of a target. Folks don’t know what to think—maybe if you take her down, you score points. Or maybe if you nail the alpha heir’s sloppy seconds—“
“Shut the fuck up.” My voice booms. The windshield cracks.
Seth shuts up. I roll the window down all the way. The cab reeks of aggression.
“Watch your mouth when you talk about her.”
He jerks a curt nod.
“I don’t stake a claim on my Land Rover, and no one touches it.”
He glowers straight ahead at the hairline crack.
Rosie would hate it if she heard me compare her to my vehicle. I hardly know her at all, but I know that. She wouldn’t get indignant, though, like Brynn or Teagan or my mother, for that matter. She’d blank me out.
She doesn’t pay much mind to stuff she thinks is beneath her. It’s strange—she’s a scavenger. There’s not much of anything beneath her, but you wouldn’t know it by how she acts. She walks around like it’s all bull crap, and she’s just passing time until she can get back to her real life.
What is it that she does when she’s on her own time?
“What do scavengers do with themselves all day?”
I almost manage to distract Seth from being pissed about his windshield. “I don’t know, man. Drink. Screw. Run around as their wolves. Kill and eat shit.”
“Doesn’t sound like a bad time.”
Seth’s shoulders relax a fraction. “No, man. It doesn’t.”
Of course, the pack wouldn’t function if we all lived that way. We’d be vulnerable. Shifters may be faster and stronger than humans, but humans grind just as hard as we do. Harder. If we give an inch, if we let ourselves slide the slightest bit, we’re easy pickings.
I crack my neck and roll my shoulders.
At the end of the day, that’s what it’s about. The pack. Survival. I don’t need to be thinking about Rosie Kemble or scavengers or anything else.
I need to learn to flip-shift.
I refocus as Seth slows to navigate the Quarry Pack camp. Killian’s people didn’t get far when they came out of the dens. His father bought an old nature education facility from the humans with money they made on the shifter fight circuit. That’s still how they pay their bills. Predictably, the standard of living is low.
They do the communal thing—shared dining hall, laundry, gym. Rank is more subtle here. All ranks all live and work together; you can only really tell status by who bends the neck and who eats first. They’re backwards as hell when it comes to females. Females can’t leave pack territory without an escort; they do all the manual labor like cooking and cleaning. Apparently, it was worse before Killian mated.
For all that, the place is homey. We drive past their log cabins, woodsmoke curling from the chimneys. Pups romp in piles of leaves raked in the yard in front of the commissary, and pathways bordered with tall wildflowers meander around camp like a picture in a storybook.
Per usual, everyone pauses what they’re doing to stare when we drive by. Quarry Pack doesn’t get a lot of excitement.
When we pull up in front of the gym, there’s no one to greet us. Last summer, the vibe was decidedly hostile and a few of his soldiers met us as soon as we parked and dogged our heels until we left, but after Killian Kelly beat my ass for three months straight, I guess it was decided that Seth and I aren’t a threat, and we lost the escort.
Quarry Pack sees things from one angle. They believe if they can win a physical confrontation, they’re safe. It’s that kind of shortsightedness that makes father want to absorb them into Moon Lake. They don’t see the danger the humans pose.
Killian won’t indulge the idea that he’s wrong. He’s like my father in that way.
Killian’s in the ring when Seth and I make our way into the old but immaculate gym he refurbished to train his fighters. He’s sparring with his second Tye. Tye’s even prettier than Seth. They hate each other.
There are a few other males lifting weights. A short-haired female in an oversized T-shirt is working out with the speed bag in the corner. Now that’s new. Females visit the gym from time to time, and Killian likes his female to hang out, although she’s not here today, but I’ve never seen one training.
Tye’s wolf snaps at me as I approach. I ignore him. Killian’s the only Quarry Pack male I can’t beat. He’s the flip-shifter.
“What up, Collins?” Killian grins at me, ducking and dodging Tye’s lightning-fast jabs. Both males have barely worked up a sweat. “You sleep in? Gotta get breakfast in bed, get your nails done before you come on over?”
I’m not that late. He’s just a dick.
I go warm up on a heavy bag. I try to clear my head, but there’s too much in it. I sort through the garbage, force myself to focus on what’s important, but my mind keeps wandering to Rosie’s flushed pink tits, the way she moaned into my mouth, how she clung to me, drowsy-eyed, her lips curving, all of her warm and smelling so damn sweet.
I bounce on my toes, slam my fist into the sand—once,hard
—and then the bond twinges, and I remember myself. I can’t hurt her.
How the hell am I gonna train like this?
The pressure grinds down, suffocating.
“Rough night?” Killian ventures over, squirting his water bottle into his mouth and swishing. Tye must’ve landed a blow to his face. There’s a bruise on his cheek, fading as we speak.
“How do you stop your mate from feeling that?” I nod at his face.
His eyes glint with understanding. I’ve shown my cards. It wasn’t planned, but it doesn’t feel wrong.
“They can’t feel the physical stuff unless it’s really bad. The other stuff—you learn to control the bond. With time. It’s like volume. You learn to crank it up. Mute it. Flip it on and off.”
I grunt and keep throwing—and pulling—punches.
Killian sniffs. “You sure here is where you want to be right now?”
“Here is where I have to be.”
He doesn’t argue. “We can work on your footwork today.”
I stop and hold the bag. “I need you to teach me to flip-shift.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “This before or after I teach you to fly?”
“Last Pack teaches their pups. It’s learned behavior. My uncle was taught.”
“When he was a pup. There’s a window. Window’s closed for you.”
He’s not telling me anything I haven’t been told, and he knows that. There’s sympathy in his faded blue eyes. It pisses me off.
“Teach me. If I can’t learn, that’s on me.”
He’s shaking his head before I finish the sentence. “Can’t teach you, man. You know my story. I was born a flip-shifter.”
“So you don’t know how Last Pack teaches their pups?”
“I mean, I’ve heard some shit, yeah, but I’m saying, it’s not gonna work for you.”
“Teach me anyway.”
He’s smiling, but he shakes his head again. “I respect that a fire’s been lit under your ass—frankly it’s nice to see a sign of life in you for once—but I ain’t wasting my time or yours.”
“Show me and let me decide.”
A few weeks ago—hell, a few days ago—I’d be nearing the end of my patience, but not now. I can’t afford impatience.
Killian scratches the back of his head and blows out a breath. Then he skewers me with his hard, even gaze, and says, “It’s not gonna work for you, man. You know there’s something wrong with your wolf.”
In the gym, there is still the slap of jump rope against the concrete. Still the spring of the speed bag and the whirr of an industrial fan set in an open doorway. But it feels like a silence fell.
I straighten. My gut cramps.